Poems From the Potting Shed

by Lynne Roberts

  *Actinidia Deliciosa! He departed in despair.

  (*kiwifruit)

  Daybreak

  The gentle peace of the country I’ve found

  Is shattered each morning by the sound

  Of cicadas which rasp the entire day long

  Competing in volume to shout out their song

  The dawn chorus starts with a symphony

  Of voices which chirp and squawk at me

  Pigeons alight on the roof with a crash

  Auditioning for the next Riverdance bash

  Cats are courting in eldricht fashion

  Arousing each other to heights of passion

  Beside the fishpond a choir of frogs

  Croak out their loud and riveting songs

  Flies are buzzing against the glass

  As a rumbling tractor grumbles past

  Mosquitoes maneuver and whine high and shrill

  Before diving in on my bed for the kill

  I long for the peace of a city street

  Or a thumping stereo’s soothing beat

  Instead I’m stuck with the rattling blast

  Of a top dressing pilot zooming past

  Roosters call out their daily hymn

  As farm dogs bark with a deafening din

  And chainsaws squeal like a violin

  Another day in the country begins

  Easter Weekend

  Roger from the city came

  He rubbed his hands with glee

  He discovered avocados

  Ripe and fallen from the tree

  I’ll pick these up and take them home

  My friends will envy me

  Roger from the city came

  It was his dearest wish

  To go out boating on the sea

  And try to catch a fish

  When lightly crumbed and gently fried

  It makes a tasty dish

  Roger from the city came

  The country life to see

  Decided he would try to find

  A lifestyle property

  Now I’m here I know that this

  Is where I want to be

  Entertaining

  Last Sunday I decided

  To invite some friends to tea

  I had been to all their parties

  It was time they came to me

  I vacuumed all the carpets

  Hung the washing out to dry

  And picked up all the empty cups

  That seem to multiply

  I dusted all the furniture

  And when I’d washed the floor

  I went to pick some roses

  To display beside the door

  Pauli with its scented flowers

  Climbed everything in sight

  With Gigantea Cooperi which offered

  Blooms of creamy white

  Xanthina Canary Bird

  Its yellow fragrance spread

  While Duchess D’Angouleme

  Blushed within her garden bed

  Tuscany thrust velvet petals

  Purple to the sky

  While, from behind, the large red hips

  Of Hansa caught my eye

  Felicite Perpetue

  Had pink buds opening white

  And Laure Davoust in lilac pink

  Filled me with delight

  Dark and crimson Francis Dubreuil’s scent

  Made me quite dizzy

  With such a wealth of roses

  I was in a tizzy

  Which one should I choose?

  The answer struck quite suddenly

  We took our chairs and sat

  Among the roses for our tea

  Fertilizer

  My grandmother used to call it, rather delicately, manure

  She said it was good for the garden

  The rest of us weren’t so sure

  It was hard to imagine the sweet perfume

  Of a blossoming Mermaid rose

  When the unwanted products of cattle and horses

  Would daily assault the nose

  Grandma believed that all roses need feeding

  With fish heads and dried blood and bone

  And compost fermented in mountainous piles

  She wandered the garden alone

  Her cries of delight on the glorious sight of a mauve-pink Marie Louise

  Fell on deaf ears as we counted the years

  Before we could grow up and leave

  As adults we married, with homes of our own

  We laid concrete and pavers and stones

  But something was missing, we needed the glory

  Of roses to make a house home

  We ordered a truckload of chicken manure

  Our offspring complained at the smell

  But we found with delight that our Grandma was right

  It does make the roses grow well

  From the Passenger Seat

  I do not know where North is

  I can’t tell right from left

  Of skills in navigation

  I am totally bereft

  Maps with highways marked in red

  I study with a frown

  As far as I’m concerned they print

  The damned things upside down

  When driving with my husband

  He cries out in dismay

  As my careful clear directions

  Lead us totally astray

  Through towns and countryside we drive

  And roads and rivers cross

  Petrol drops and tempers rise

  As I admit we’re lost

  We crossed a mountain range

  That was supposed to be a plain

  We crossed a one way bridge

  Then turned to cross it back again

  That cunning little shortcut

  That we took a short while back

  Has landed us upon

  A farmer’s potholed tanker track

  And at that scenic area

  From which we last departed

  I gave the wrong directions

  Now we’re right back where we started

  I cannot find a petrol station

  Or a cheap café

  But tell me of a garden

  And I’ll clearly see the way

  And if there is a plant sale

  Or a hidden nursery

  With a yard stuffed full of bargains

  These I find unerringly

  So if upon a journey

  You are planning to embark

  And if you want to get there

  In the daylight not the dark

  Unless you’re buying trees or flowers here’s some advice for free

  Please navigate yourself and do not give the map to me!

  Gnomeless

  Each home should own at least one gnome

  In the garden, my neighbour once said.

  I have a pair

  By the pond over there

  Their names are Jasmine and Fred.

  There’s a gnome with a walking stick down by the hedge

  In a dear little jacket of blue

  Another wee fellow

  Is pushing a barrow

  Wouldn’t you like a gnome too?

  There’s plenty of room in your pond for a gnome

  My friendly neighbour suggested

  Set right in the middle

  Stark naked, to piddle

  I don’t want a gnome I protested

  What about putting a gnome by the rose bed

  Or under that tree by the wall?

  The more I resisted

  The more she persisted

  But gnomes are not my thing at all

  My neighbour has gnomes littered throughout her garden

  Standing alone or in rows

  They have wide manic grins

  With beards on their chins

  And they wear shiny, colourful clothes

  Their wrinkled old faces leer out through the leaves

  Violets sprawl round by their feet
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  Last week I saw one

  Who exposed his small bum

  Which caused me to quickly retreat

  Much to my horror on Saturday morning

  My neighbour came over to say

  I have brought you a gnome

  One of your very own.

  So now I am moving away

  Gwyther’s Garden

  Going down the winding path

  Underneath the trees

  Plants grow lush in dappled shade

  Where Gwyther with her skill has made

  A garden sure to please

  Going down the winding path

  Down the hillside steep

  Are plants too numerous to name

  The sweeping countryside is framed

  As through the trees we peep

  Going down the winding path

  Pause and rest awhile

  Where leaves in autumn colours fall

  And fantails from the bushes call

  Rewarded with a smile

  Going down the winding path

  I wish I’d come here when

  Each shrub and plant was massed with bloom

  To fill the air with sweet perfume

  I’ll have to come again

  Herbal Days

  Jim was most unhappy as he wandered through his vines

  With money owed to pruners and for bees

  No cash for beer or cigarettes or moving with the times

  To replant in the new varieties

  A cousin came to visit, filled with all the joys of spring

  He’d last seen her some seven years ago

  She carried an enormous bag containing many things

  And asked to see the plants that he could grow

  She told him she was qualified in natural therapy

  And used a lot of plant roots, leaves and seeds

  Jim took her round his orchard where she fell onto her knees

  And gave a cry of joy at all the weeds

  She told Jim how she made infusions, tinctures, pills and creams

  To cure her sick and varied clientele

  And pointed out that plants were beneficial in extreme

  When simply picked and eaten raw as well

  Jim felt the orchard showed off to advantage for a change

  His weeds were natural herbs that he’d let grow

  And her advice, he thought, was good, although a little strange

  Jim thanked her as he waved and watched her go

  Passing by the shelter line Jim saw plants growing wild

  What they were for he didn’t have a clue

  He picked some leaves and rolled them up into a large cigar

  And smoked it just to see what it would do

  Today Jim’s orchard is neglected, such a sad disgrace

  The neighbours are concerned about the pests

  But Jim’s a happy chappy as he staggers round the place

  With his natural, home-grown, herbal cigarettes

  Hoe Down

  Before I took up gardening

  My hands were always clean

  Now they are a most peculiar shade of grubby green

  My nails are chipped and broken

  A sorry sight to see

  My skin is cracked and not unlike the dried bark on a tree

  Before I took up